You don’t have to be good or relenting. You don’t have to crawl on your knees through the lonely desert repenting. You only have let your broken heart love and forgive.
Tell me your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile, the wild starling sings songs you’ve never known, reminds you that being is not belonging, that your worth is not your own. Meanwhile, their flightless young are tucked in some cavity by the shore, awaiting the wind that brings wings and seeds they adore, still not knowing it’s that same wind that one day will help them soar. Meanwhile, all creation breathes in unison with each ray from the sun— each creature given life by another one, making bonds that can never be undone, loved into being, breath by breath, since time has begun.
Whoever you are, no matter how struggling, this creation offers itself to your imagining, calls to you like the wild starling—harsh and inviting— over and over announcing your place in the family of being.
Can’t your stumbles become cobblestones worn smooth by all who’ve walked the path before; the one who bore the cross alone cut down by those forgiven through pain He bore.
I’ll tell my fears honestly, so you can send them heavenly: that I lack the courage to become what I’m meant to be; that I’ve broken something irreparably; that the damage I’ve done echoes forward in ways I cannot see; that my strength is just well-disguised fragility; that my intentions are made weak by my familiar folly.
suffer most in our minds, we are holding ourselves back,
Previous Drafts
You don’t have to be good or relenting. You don’t have to crawl on your knees through the lonely desert repenting. You only have to trust in love and choose to forgive. Can’t one turn your stumbles into cobblestones worn smooth by all who’ve walked the path before; the one who bore the cross alone cut down by those forgiven through pain He bore.
I’ll tell my fears honestly, so you can send them heavenly: that I am too much yet not enough; that my edges are too rough; that I lack the courage to become what I’m meant to be; that I’ve broken something irreparably; that the damage I’ve done echoes forward in ways I cannot see; that my strength is just well-disguised fragility; that my intentions are made weak by my familiar folly.
Meanwhile, the wild starling sings songs you’ve never known, reminds you that being is not belonging, that your worth is not your own. Meanwhile, their flightless young are tucked in some cavity by the shore, awaiting the wind that brings wings and seeds they adore, still not knowing it’s that same wind that one day will help them soar. Meanwhile, all creation breathes in unison with each ray from the sun— each creature given life by another one, making bonds that can never be undone, loved into being, breath by breath, since time has begun.
Whoever you are, no matter how wandering, this creation offers itself to your imagining, calls to you like the wild starling—harsh and inviting— over and over announcing your place in the family of being.
- By Justin Benson
- Inspired by Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese
- Dedicated to my loving parents, kin, and Creator
- Published Christmas Morning 2025